Headstrong: Improvise
by Melanie Rachel
Summary: A few months after teaming up with Major Richard Fitzwilliam to thwart a terrorist attack in Europe, USMC Staff Sergeant Elizabeth Bennet is back in the States as a civilian. Her training in cyber-security makes finding work easy, and she's learning to fit into her new life. But there is lingering fallout both from the attack and her life before it that she's not prepared to face.


**SAMPLE (once this is out of KU, I can post it here, but until then . . .)**

AN: Just a warning—this chapter is about a terrorist attack. I do not get gory or super descriptive, but it's the event that kicks off the entire story, so it's important. If this is going to bother you-don't read it.

While we don't meet Will Darcy until Chapter Two, this is a D&E HEA (eventually). Despite Darcy's initial insult I'd say it's more along the lines of Darcy and Elizabeth getting together earlier than canon and then facing troubles together (and boy are there troubles).

_Headstrong_ is a trilogy Book One: Improvise, Book Two: Adapt, Book Three: Overcome-this is from the first book. All three books are available in KU.

**I am hosting a _Headstrong_ giveaway, but this site doesn't allow me to post a url. So look me up under "Melanie Rachel" and "Weebly," go to the BLOG link, and read the instructions! The giveaway ends March 13th, I will randomly select on the 14th and announce on the blog and my FB on the 15th of March, 2020! Free, nothing to buy and I will not retain your contact info/name, etc. You can enter fake stuff even, but of course, if you win, you'll want to send me real info so I can send you the books!  
**

**Chapter One**

He was late.

She'd arrived early at De Roos and grabbed a booth tucked behind the wooden front door. She tapped the heel of her boot on the floor, turned to count the large fieldstones used to build the long bar on the back wall, and tried to guess where each of the customers had come from. Local? Tourist? Embassy?

At last, fifteen minutes past their meeting time and just before she stood to leave, Elizabeth Bennet saw him. Standing a few feet away, hands on his hips, canvassing the room before spotting her behind him, was Major Richard Fitzwilliam.

"Staff Sergeant," he said amiably.

"Sir," she replied with a grin.

He raised his hand to attract the attention of a waitress. When a buxom redhead wearing black pants and a tight t-shirt turned and saw him, he held up two fingers and she disappeared behind the bar.

"You made me wait," she chided, showing the display on her phone. "Hardly the way to say, 'Thank you for saving my life.'"

Major Fitzwilliam shook his head. "Last meeting ran long." He tossed his sunglasses down on the table. Elizabeth noted the tailored fit of his brown khakis and dark green polo shirt—casual wear that appeared expensive. _Everyone looks so different out of uniform,_ she thought. He slid into the booth opposite her.

"A regular, I see," Elizabeth teased. She stretched her toes out in her boots, feeling comfortable at last. She'd spent her shift working on the embassy's computer network, including carting away some truly ancient desktops and swapping them out for newer models. Then she'd needed to update the software. The assignment was way below her pay grade and boring as dirt. But it was easy enough, and it meant she was stationed in Brussels, so she wasn't complaining.

Elizabeth had found the major surprisingly good-natured for an officer in the months since she'd arrived in Europe. She'd worried a bit at first that he was flirting with her, but it turned out he teased just about everyone. She knew now that Major Fitzwilliam was too dedicated a Marine ever to break the regulation on fraternization. That being the case, Elizabeth felt safe enjoying his friendly banter. It was a bit like having a charming and sarcastic older brother.

The major ran a hand through his sandy hair in a gesture that indicated a long day. "I am, but I'm not a lush, if that's what you're implying," he said flippantly.

"Well, sir, it would explain how you managed to purge thirty significant documents from your computer . . . don't you officers know how to back up files?"

"I'm still not sure how that happened." He exhaled dramatically and tossed his hands up in frustration. "The entire program for the conference next month, including the papers, and the translations, all in the correct formatting. I could have gathered them all again, but it would have taken forever to redo the translations. You didn't save my life, Staff Sergeant, but you sure saved my weekend."

"You're welcome," she replied, a little smug. "And because you are being so polite, _and_ you're buying me a beer, I'll let you in on a secret." She arched one eyebrow.

"How do you do that?" he asked, leaning forward. "Move just one eyebrow?"

She shrugged. "Dunno. I can't roll my tongue or wiggle my ears, so it all evens out, I guess."

The corners of his mouth turned up. "You're damn cheerful for all the menial labor I saw you put in today." He leaned forward. "So tell me, what's the big secret?"

She raised both eyebrows before saying, "First, you really _should_ back up your files."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, so I've been told." He motioned for her to continue.

"_You_ didn't lose anything. The general logged onto your computer and tried to send the files to her own. She's the one who did the damage." Satisfied, she leaned back in her seat. "Sir."

"Son of a bitch!" Richard growled, banging a fist on the table. "I _knew_ it! The old gorgon turned it on me before she even took a breath." He spoke through his nose in imitation of the general, "'It's _your _computer, Fitzwilliam.'"

"It's unfathomable, really," she said with a chuckle, "how the woman can command an embassy as well as she does and yet be so entirely computer illiterate. How difficult is it to transfer files?"

Elizabeth's playful mocking was interrupted by the arrival of what looked like a wine bottle and two substantial steins. The major allowed his eyes to linger just a bit too long on the prominently displayed breasts of their server, and Elizabeth grimaced. Was it really necessary to ogle the waitress? She made a face at him and he responded by lifting one shoulder and letting it drop before he poured them each a beer from the bottle. She lifted her stein and sipped from it.

"What is this?" she asked. "It's really good."

"It's Fou'Foune," he replied, taking a long draught of his own.

She took another sip. "Mmm."

Richard heard a happy "tap, tap" on the wooden floor and shook his head. Sometimes he forgot how young she was. _Twenty-two, twenty-three, maybe_? _Not so young for a Marine. I'm just getting old._

"So," he said, leaning back, relaxing. "Few months in Brussels so far, right? Like it?"

Bennet nodded. "I'm hoping to get to see a bit more of Europe. They've had me everywhere _but_ Europe. I was in Japan for a while, and that was nice, but my broken Spanish wasn't much help."

"I was in Asia a few years ago," he said amiably, reaching for his drink. "My Japanese isn't great, though. My Dutch is good, French is better, and my Arabic isn't terrible. I also speak a little Pilipino."

"Is that the same as Tagalog?" she asked.

He nodded.

"The Philippines," she mused. She gave him an assessing look. "I suppose you know Kali?"

Kali was one name for the knife fighting style he'd learned there. "I know enough." She seemed to be waiting for more, but there wasn't much he was authorized to say about his work in the Philippines. "I now carve a hell of a Thanksgiving turkey," he said simply. "How'd you hear of it?"

"I like to read," she replied with a shrug. She took a drink. "I had a few tours in Afghanistan and Iraq and other places in the Middle East," she said, "but I mainly stayed on base setting up networks, working out kinks in the existing computer systems and searching for intrusions and vulnerabilities. I was in Africa, too, but I couldn't tell you where—we were usually in concrete bunkers doing our thing. It's been really nice to have normal off-hours, even a weekend here and there, do some sightseeing." She set her beer down. "Everything's so close here—it took me less than two hours to get to Paris. And the work—well, it's not exactly challenging, but that's okay."

He thought she didn't seem particularly concerned about it and asked her why.

"I'm planning to separate at the end of my six. So coasting for a few more months doesn't bother me at all."

He nodded. It made sense. "I'm getting pretty close to my ten."

"Are you thinking about separating?" she asked curiously.

He shrugged. "Haven't decided," he replied.

As Bennet set her mug on the table and reached for a menu, Richard saw her frown and tilt her head slightly to peer around the end of the booth. She became very still, very serious."Sir," she said, in a low, urgent whisper and gestured behind him with a slight movement of her eyes.

Richard turned, careful not to move too quickly, and spied four men swaggering to the bar, dressed too warmly for the weather. They were looking around but not sitting. "Another . . . ?" he asked in a murmur, tipping his head behind him, towards the entrance.

She responded with a minute nod of her head, indicating the approximate position of a fifth man.

"Damn," he muttered.

He reached for his sidearm, but there was nothing there. They couldn't carry weapons outside the Embassy grounds, and he was suddenly glad they weren't in uniform. At least they'd have the advantage of surprise. They'd need it.

Bennet caught his eye. He pointed to her, the stein, and then down to the floor beneath her seat. He'd never fit in the small space between the bottom of the booth and the floor, but Bennet could. She'd be able to get in behind the sentry from that angle.

She nodded, grabbed her beer, dropped to the ground, and carefully eased into position. Richard knelt down near the edge of the table, remaining out of sight while he tried to assess the situation. He reached up to grab his own beer, took a drink, poured out the remaining liquid on the floor behind him, and hefted the weight of the stein in his hand.

The three men had moved into the restaurant, facing the other side of the room where everyone else was seated. One pulled a Luger, and then everything happened at once. There was an earsplitting shriek of gunfire into the ceiling that made his ears ring and his guts squeeze tight. The gunman's torrent of words was nearly drowned out by the screams of the customers and staff as they scuttled for shelter, but he caught enough. _Arabic, he _thought clinically, _but a terrible accent. Second, maybe third language_. There was a sudden flurry of movement as several young men who had been seated on a booth at the far end of the room burst through an emergency exit into the street, yelling for help. The repeated klaxon of the alarm was deafening, but it abruptly ceased when one of the shots that followed destroyed the old box housing it.

The attackers began arguing, the escape clearly rattling them. _They sure didn't map this out._

Each man had what appeared to be a Luger. They shot randomly, angrily, at the overturned tables, the windows, the open kitchen. The sharp, ear-piercing ricochet of metal against the hanging pots was painful. There were screams and sobs as people hit the ground. Some tried to crawl away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blur as Bennet made her move.

Elizabeth was hyper-aware of the grit under her palms as she sized up her target and counted. _One. _Several college-aged boys fled into the street. _Excellent._ The men in the center of the floor began to argue. _Two._ The young man standing guard stepped a little farther into the room. She grabbed her stein. _Three._ Heart pounding in her ears, she launched herself out from under the booth, moved into position, and swung. The heavy stein impacted the attacker's head with such force that it sent a painful jolt up her arm. In the second it took for the man to drop to his knees, Major Fitzwilliam appeared in front of him. He grabbed the man by the collar and delivered a powerful blow to the man's face, breaking his nose. The sentry slumped backwards and collapsed to the floor, where he lay motionless. Elizabeth grabbed the prone figure under one arm, the major the other, and they dragged him a few feet back, out of his partners' direct line of sight.

She took a quick look at the middle of the room as they both searched the unconscious man for weapons—his team was still shooting in the other direction, backs to the front door, screaming at each other, making too much noise to hear what she and the major were doing. They had not yet noticed that their man was missing. She grabbed the Luger from the attacker's slack hand, and the major shoved him up on one side, still hunting.

The tallest attacker flipped his long coat back to reveal a rifle.

"AKM," they hissed at the same time, and their speed increased. Elizabeth's hand closed around a second magazine and then the handle of a knife while the major grabbed a second handgun. The major held out his hand and she passed the knife over. Then they split up. He moved back to their table while Elizabeth slipped to the right and behind the bar itself. Once concealed, Elizabeth checked the condition of her weapon and ammunition—eight rounds in and eight in the magazine. She met the major's eyes. He gestured to a group of upended tables down the left side of the room—he would keep between them and the wall, and she would provide cover. She nodded once.

The firing stopped, and the jabbering began again. Elizabeth popped her head up over the top of the bar and took two shots. She ducked just as she heard four shots hit the front of the bar and two more hit the mirrored wall above her, splintering the glass. She dodged the shards as well as she could, then crept down the bar past the bartender and the waitress who were on the floor, curled into fetal positions with their hands over their ears. Once well beyond them, she rose just high enough above the counter to return fire with a pair of shots before dropping back to one knee.

There were a lot of civilians scattered around the room in the line of fire. She didn't have a lot of ammunition either—she'd have to pick her shots and hope for the best. She crouched again and scrambled all the way to the far end of the bar, took a breath, and peered over the top. The attackers were still aiming their weapons in the direction of her previous position. She steadied her weapon and squeezed off two rounds. One man went down.

They all turned at once, but the man with the AKM was struggling to reload it. She took two more shots. Even as fast as she dropped to the floor, she saw another man fall to the ground and she grimaced as she reloaded. _Eight rounds left_. As she worked her way back to the center of the bar, she heard the major firing from his position across the room, and then an angry howl. _They'll take cover_, she thought. _We need to get them now_. She peered over the top of the bar to see that both two remaining attackers were now behind tables, and the AKM was pointing directly at her.  
Her eyes locked on the rifle.

"Down!" the major ordered. It must have been shouted, because she heard it clear as a bell.

Elizabeth dove to the ground and pressed her hands to her ears as an entire wall of bottles above her exploded in a thunderous hail of bullets.

Richard sneered as at least thirty rounds were fired at Bennet's position. _Did he just empty his clip to shoot up the booze?_ He uncovered his ears, but it hadn't done him much good to protect them—he could hear nothing more than a buzzing sound. He ducked as the second attacker whirled to fire randomly at him, but fortunately the man was unable to properly handle even his smaller weapon. He managed to clean out most of the front windows and not much else. A few jagged pieces of glass still clung to the frames, sending bright shafts of refracted light across the polished wooden floor. While the shooter reached for another magazine, Richard aimed and fired, striking the man in the arm when he turned at the last moment. _Shit._ That resulted in more wild shooting around the room, the bullets rising too high, Richard hoped, to hit anyone.

Bennet popped up from behind the bar like a freaking jack-in-the-box, taking three more shots and briefly drawing attention away from him so he could move. The remaining two attackers, both wounded, backed up across the room towards the emergency exit, speaking excitedly, weapons still aimed inside. _Damn, is that Russian now? No . . .I think that's Turkic._ Richard squeezed off several more rounds. One man went down, but the slide on Richard's pistol didn't retract. Out of bullets_._ He shoved the gun into his waistband and kept an eye on the fallen man as he moved from one source of cover to another. Bennet was watching their exit from a kneeling position behind the end of the bar on the other side of the room, weapon still in one hand but without a clear shot, holding the other hand up, palm out, as a sign to everyone to remain in place.

He drew the knife from his belt.

As the last attacker scrambled over the body that was now lying across the threshold, he lit a rag stuffed in a bottle and cocked his arm back to throw it inside. Just as the man was about to release the bottle, Richard whipped the knife at him. There was a flash of metal and a scream and the bottle's trajectory changed.

Time slowed down for Richard. He was caught in no-man's land: too far away to leap the overturned tables and chairs to grab the Molotov before it exploded and burned, not far enough away to escape the blast. All he could do was watch the arc of the bottle and the tiny flicker of the flame as he imagined his life ending in fire. There was even time to consider the irony that it was the Embassy assignment his father had insisted he take that would kill him in the end. _Killed by the world's stupidest terrorists_, he thought, and then, hopefully, _maybe the flame will go out_.

As he was helplessly watching the bottle sail beyond his reach, Bennet sprinted from behind the end of the bar. She caught the bottle in one hand and ripped the burning rag out of it with the other. The flame reached the fuel on the cloth and flared before she dropped it and stomped on it. She picked up her firearm from where she'd left it and began to retreat to cover.

His heart rate slowing just a bit, Richard got to his knees and crawled to the terrorist closest to him. The man's arms were curled around a backpack. Richard watched him closely and eased the pack away so he could check it for weapons. He glanced as a blur of long black hair flew past. A teenager with tears on her cheeks and her mouth open in a scream he couldn't hear was running across the floor. "Stop!" he yelled, but who knew if her hearing was any better than his? He spied Bennet leaving cover to intercept the girl.

A limp hand brushed his fingers, and Richard's attention jerked back to the body. Startled, he pulled the pack into his arms and sprang away as he saw the man's eyes focus on the backpack, his lips moving. He couldn't hear the words, but he saw the grim smile and could read the man's lips. "Allahu Akbar," he mouthed. His thumb twitched against a cell phone in his other hand, searching for something.

Time sped up again as Richard leapt to his feet. As though he were throwing a discus with both hands, he used the straps to toss the backpack through the air with all his strength.

"Bomb!" he yelled. Bennet's arms wrapped around the girl, sending them both to the ground a split second before the backpack sailed inches over their heads. It traveled through the largest of the shattered windows and out onto the street corner nearest the alley.

There was the roar of an explosion outside, the acrid odor of gunpowder and smoke, the whizzing of shrapnel, broken pieces of wood and glass shrieking back inside through suddenly heated air. He stayed down and hoped Bennet had found cover.

Once the worst of the debris settled, he remained prone for a second to mentally review his injuries before emerging to survey the damage. The remaining glass nearest the detonation had been blown from the windows, and the heavy front door had been knocked off its top hinge and was leaning precariously into the room. The booth where they'd originally been seated was in three large pieces. He shifted to look behind him. The other end of the room, where most of the civilians were hiding, seemed mostly intact other than the holes high up on the wall, same as the kitchen.

He reached forward to pull himself up. The back of his hands and forearms had taken the brunt of the flying glass, but he felt a damp trickle of warm blood on his neck as well. His ears were ringing. _Maybe a few stitches_, he thought, rather stunned that he had escaped with so little damage. He shook his head, and tiny bits of glass rained from his hair.

"Anyone critical?" he called, sitting up slowly. He couldn't hear his own voice, and he shook his head a bit, irritated. It didn't help his hearing, but it did make him feel a little nauseous. _Like being shot at by circus clowns. _He flinched at the pain in his arms._ Still hurts._

He gazed more carefully around the room. He counted two wounded over by the front windows. Around the room, people continued to simply appear, heads rising above the debris like moles, most faces white with shock, some only now reaching out gingerly to one another. He saw injuries from the flying glass and some minor wounds—there was one corner where there seemed to be several more serious injuries. It was difficult to see over the toppled booths and splintered tables laying on their sides. His eyes flew back in the direction he'd tossed the backpack. _Where is Bennet?_

He pushed himself up to begin triage, closing his eyes against the dizziness for a moment and then moving towards the first prone figure. He instructed the woman's husband to hold pressure on her wound, then shifted to the next casualty.

Elizabeth's head was throbbing, her ears ringing. She could feel her t-shirt sticking to her back. There was a strong, sharp metallic smell filling her nose and mouth that made her gag. She spit out blood—she had bitten her tongue—and felt a body shifting beneath her. The teenaged girl she'd tackled and covered shrugged her off, and she let go as a man in his mid-forties ran over to sweep the girl into his arms. Elizabeth saw only a bobbing ponytail as he carried her away.

She pushed herself up to her hands and right knee and waited for a moment, expecting the room to stop spinning and her ears to cease ringing. When neither happened, she tumbled over into a sitting position and stared dumbly at a thin metal splinter protruding from the side of her left leg, close to her kneecap. _I should feel that._

She glanced over at the bar to see the bartender poking his nose above the bar and then standing. She met his gaze, and he nodded. His face was pale, and he'd been cut up by flying glass from the bottles, but otherwise he appeared well. He reached down to help his coworker up.

With a grunt, Elizabeth hauled herself to her feet and balanced most of her weight on her good leg. There was an ache in her shoulder and a small, sharp pain just above her left eyebrow. She passed a hand across her face and stared at the smeared blood. _Oh_, she thought blearily. _That explains it._

The major was crouched near some of the wounded giving instruction and trying to take a casualty count. She leaned on whatever was still standing as she hobbled over to provide aid.

She touched his shoulder. "You all right, sir?" she asked, her voice loud and hoarse. He looked down at his bloody arms, but she gestured to his neck, just below his jaw. He put his hand up to touch where she indicated, and his fingers came away wet and red.

"Close," Elizabeth yelled. He nodded as the room filled with Belgian law enforcement, and they both reached for ID.

Richard looked Bennet over. Her t-shirt was shredded and stained, more seriously on her left side. Her face was clear but for one razor thin cut just above her left eyebrow that bled profusely but he thought looked worse than it was. _Glass_.

"You okay?" he asked in a near shout. He stood and turned away from an officer who then retrieved his empty gun from his waistband. _They got here fast_, he thought, then remembered the boys who had escaped. He reached out with his free hand to help her to the nearest booth. The vinyl on the seat was torn and large pieces of foam still floated in the air. She blinked at him as the tiny yellow pieces swirled around them but did not respond. _Shit,_ he thought, looking her full in the face, _her pupils are dilated._

He watched her lips as she said, "Pipe bomb." He agreed without comment. Impossible to know whether there had been a detonation from the phone or whether the motion of the throw had set it off. No matter. Had it gone off inside . . . he glanced at the windows.

Bennet grimaced at him, nodded outside. "Game over," she said, completing his thought. She placed her weapon on the tabletop and eased herself back on the seat, extending her left leg along its length. It was then he noticed the shrapnel jutting out of her leg just to the side of her knee. She put her right arm heavily on the battered table, her red, blistered hand landing on a handle that had once been part of a stein. She clutched it in her fist and raised it to show him, meeting his gaze for a moment until her focus faltered. The major sat heavily across from her.

"You still owe me a beer," Bennet said. She lay her head down on her upper arm and the fist clutching the handle dropped to the table. He could see her adrenaline draining away, and he struggled to read her lips. "This one doesn't count."


End file.
